


Dear Super-Secret Diary

by flawedamythyst



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Advent, Canadian Shack, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Post-Civil War (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-10 17:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 16,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12916743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Clint gets so bored while they're in hiding that he starts a diary. Just in time for Christmas.





	1. December 1st - Cabin

**Author's Note:**

> Advent calendar being posted daily on [my Tumblr](https://flawedamythyst.tumblr.com/tagged/Winterhawk-Advent). I'll put the chapters on here about once a week.

Okay, so, about a million years ago, after Loki, I had a therapist who told me I should start a journal to let out my thoughts and feelings and, I can’t even remember what he said, be less fucked up somehow.

I totally ignored him because I was way too busy for diary-writing, first with moping and then with being an Avenger. After I’d shot a few super-powered assholes in the face, people seemed less concerned about how fucked up I was.

Now, though, I’ve got nothing but time, and no super-powered assholes to shoot in the face. Well, except Barnes and that’s gonna end with Cap punching me, no one wants to be punched by Captain America.

We’ve been in this cabin for about a month now, and it was a long couple of months twiddling our thumbs in Wakanda before that, and I’ve officially reached the point where I’m starting a journal. You win, Doctor Salzmann, let’s see if this makes me less fucked up.

Not that I’ve got anything to write about. Kinda the point of being bored. I mean, what am I going to put? It snowed again yesterday? I can see pine trees out of the window? That’s basically the only thing I’ve seen since we got here, snow and pine trees. Fuck, I thought Canada would be a nice change after Wakanda, but of course we came here just as winter properly kicked in.

The only interesting thing I’ve done today is get some shooting in, but I do that every day when there’s not an actual blizzard, so it’s hardly a big deal. Well, except for how awesome I am, of course. (Which is a lot. Well, with a bow, anyway.)

Barnes came over and watched for a bit. He’s got this way of hovering silently in the background and just staring that puts every one of my hackles up. I get it, okay, decades of brainwashing to train him into the perfect assassin leaves certain habits, like glaring murder at whoever is around, but how come that always seems to be me? 

I was doing the dishes the other night, glanced over my shoulder, and he was sitting hunched on the worktop staring at me, and I had no idea how long he’d been there. Basically gave me a heart attack. I really hope he hadn’t been there long enough to hear me singing Taylor Swift songs. It’s not my fault, that shit is catchy, okay?

Today, he at least stood somewhere I could see him as he did his creepy staring thing, but he was there for ages, just standing without really moving, until I yelled at him to just take a picture because it would last longer.

He disappeared after that and I thought I’d get some peace (this is not a big cabin once it’s got four grown men and Wanda in it) but he was back after a couple minutes, with a phone. He actually stood there and took a bunch of photos, the asshole, and I know he doesn’t have a phone so that must have been Steve’s.

Shit, I hope it wasn’t the top-secret burner phone for calling Tony in an emergency that we’re not meant to know about. Steve’s going to be so pissed if Barnes’s messed with that.

Eh, he probably deleted them as soon as he’d finished messing with me. Why the hell would he actually keep photos of me?


	2. December 2nd - Holly

You know what sucks? That I’d totally lost track of the date until yesterday when I started writing this and had to ask Wanda, but now I know it’s December I can’t help thinking about how all the stores back home must be filling up with terrible Holidays tat, and someone somewhere will be having a meltdown in the media about the ‘war on Christmas’, and there’ll be eggnog! I fucking love eggnog.

Being in hiding in a secret Canadian cabin is the worst. I want to go to a mall and have to use awesome ninja moves just to get to the till, and decorate my apartment with enough cheap tinsel to hide the arrow holes in the plaster, and eat gingerbread until I can’t move. Damn you, Stark, you’re ruining all my Christmas traditions. Damn Grinch.

Yeah, yeah, okay, so on an adult level I’m aware I can’t really put all of this on Tony, but, damnit, this is my super-secret diary, I’ll whine like a teenage girl in it if I want to.

Speaking of whining, Steve made me take Barnes with me when I went hunting earlier.

He was all ‘he’s a crackshot too, Clint’ and ‘it would do him good to get out, Clint’ and ‘he needs to feel like he’s contributing, Clint’ until I caved and agreed to take him along, and then the asshole didn’t even have the manners to talk to me. Wait, that’s not true, I think he managed a whole sentence when we came across some Canadian holly and I stopped to cut some because, fuck it, we might not be getting the rest of Christmas but I’m gonna damn well put some holly on our mantelpiece.

“You know that’s poisonous, right?”

Yes, smart ass, I did know that. I told him I was getting it because Christmas, and his face did that blank robot thing. I swear to God, sometimes he makes me miss Vision’s expressiveness.

Anyway, it looks damn good over the fireplace, so screw him. Actually, with the open fire and the snow outside and the rustic cabin thing, this is probably way more Christmassy than my apartment back home already.

It’s all classy Christmassy, though. I like tacky-as-fuck Christmassy.

Barnes is watching at me again, by the way. I mean, he’s over in the other armchair, pretending to read a book and aggressively ignoring Sam and Steve’s cuddling in the same way that I am, but he’s totally watching me. I know, because I stuck my tongue out at him and he twitched.

Maybe it’s just that I’m the one he doesn’t trust? I mean, obviously him and Steve have a bromance for the ages, and he must have bonded with Sam during their weird road trip thing because they snipe at each other all the time, and Wanda is Wanda, she might be more powerful than anyone else in this cabin, but she’s great. Whereas I’m the guy who showed up late to the fight then didn’t see him again, unfrozen, until we were getting ready to come out here.

I’m gonna stick my tongue out at him again, see if that makes him chill the fuck out.

Nope. And now I’m in trouble with Steve. Damnit.


	3. December 3rd - Jumper

It’s stupid early and will still be dark for hours and hours yet, but I can’t sleep because of how damn cold it is (well, okay, and there might have been a nightmare or two but I’m damned if I’m actually putting anything in here that would make my therapist happy), so I’m gonna write about how much I hate being cold in here instead.

Dear diary, I hate it a lot. A LOT.

I dumped my sweater close enough to the bed last night to snag it and put it on, but there’s no way I’m getting out from under these covers to get more clothes.

Did I mention I’m sharing a room with Barnes? This cabin has three bedrooms, one with a double bed, one little bigger than a shoebox with one bed that Wanda immediately called shotgun on, and then this room, with two single beds. When we got here, Steve started out with ‘it’s fine, Bucky and I will share a bed, we used to do it often enough as kids’, apparently not noticing the glare Sam was giving him, but Bucky just rolled his eyes and went and put his bag on one of the beds in here.

The one by the window, which I was pissed about at the time, but I bet it’s colder over there than it is here so I’ve made my peace with it. Not that he seems to have noticed. He’s sleeping like a baby right now. What happened to him being all traumatised ex-assassin with one eye permanently open?

Sam’s going into town in a couple of days. Maybe I’ll go with him and see if I can pick up another few jumpers, blankets, hats, basically anything woollen and snuggly.

Jesus fucking Christ, turns out Barnes isn’t asleep after all, he’s just scared the crap out of me by demanding to know what I’m doing awake this early. I’m hoping he didn’t notice that I just about jumped out of my skin.

I told him it was because of the cold, and he just grunted, “It’s warmer than it was in cryostasis,” and, seriously? What the hell do you say to that?

Nothing, apparently, you just let the awkward silence reign. Good going, Hawkeye.

He just offered me one of his blankets. Jesus fuck how does this make any sense?

I mean, I said yes, of course. Mmmm....snuggly warm super-soldier body heat. Maybe I’ll actually manage another hour of sleep.


	4. December 4th - Cards

So, I walked into the kitchen earlier to find Barnes at the table with all Steve’s art stuff spread out around him.

And by ‘all Steve’s art stuff’, obviously I mean the pad of paper and fancy set of pencils that Sam bought for him in the airport giftshop while the rest of us were loading up necessities like booze and chocolate and travel-sized board games.

It turns out that travel-sized Monopoly is really damn fiddly. We lost enough pieces to make it completely unuseable the first time we played it. Also, we didn’t buy anywhere near enough booze.

Anyway, so, Barnes was using and abusing Steve’s precious art stuff. I mean, it’s not like Steve would begrudge the guy anything he owned, and would probably have just handed over his own arm for him if T’Challa hadn’t stepped up with a new robot one, but still. Guy shouldn’t take advantage of Captain America’s big heart, right?

So, I pointed out that Steve would kill him if he messed his shit up as I put on coffee, and got a snort of derision that means Barnes is very aware just how far he’d have to go to piss Steve off, then he said, “I’m making Christmas cards.”

So, maybe my response to that could have been more diplomatic. “Do you even know anyone who doesn’t live in this cabin? I mean, other than Hydra assholes? Who the hell are you going to send cards to?”

“T’Challa,” he said and, yes, okay, good point, probably a nice gesture for the guy who totally came through for us all despite being pretty much a stranger.

I didn’t think the Winter Soldier did nice gestures, but I guess Bucky Barnes does. Maybe the blanket yesterday wasn’t some kind of weird power play and I don’t need to keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I think I’ve spent too much spies who always have about a hundred motives for everything they do. It may have warped me a bit.

Somehow I ended up making both of us coffee and then joining in with the card-making because. Well, because there’s fuck all to do here, and I like Christmas, okay? I made one for each of the guys here, one for T’Challa, and then one for Nat that I’ll never be able to send because apparently I’m a masochist like that. 

I put a porcupine on it, like the one in Kentucky. That would totally have made her laugh. And even if it didn’t, my terrible art skills would have.

Ugh, I miss my best friend. That seems like a super-secret diary thing to write.

At any rate, I spent a couple hours hanging out with Barnes and we actually managed to have a conversation that lasted more than thirty seconds, which was pretty damn special. I might have to upgrade to using his first name at this rate.

I asked what prompted the sudden burst of creativity, and he did that moody shrugging thing and said, “Guess I like Christmas. Wanted to do something for it.” And then he gave me a weirdly intense look and added, “You like Christmas too.”

I mean, it’s not exactly a secret. I spent two hours yesterday whistling White Christmas until Sam threatened to fill my bed with snow if I didn’t stop.

Barnes and I have agreed to try and make this place as Christmassy as we can, despite the obstacles of being in the middle of nowhere and supposedly keeping a low profile. First step: going to the nearest town with Sam tomorrow and ransacking the place for tinsel.


	5. December 5th - Cocoa

Today started with an argument with Steve, which was not fun. Apparently, he wasn’t kidding around when he said only two people were allowed to go to town at a time as part of the whole ‘inconspicuous’ thing. Like someone will look over at three guys bundled up in four hundred layers and immediately twig they’re internationally fugitives, but two guys is totally stealth.

He also said he doesn’t trust me to get what we need, which is just rude, frankly. I can stick to a shopping list just as well as Sam can. That time I went for groceries at the Tower and came back with every flavour of kids cereal available was a fluke. And also the best damn week of food we had at the Tower, and I defy anyone to say differently.

Anyone other than Captain Spoilsport, anyway.

So, Sam and Bucky went off to town without me and I climbed on to the top of the cabin because I was just about done with people. Bucky had the nerve to give me a cheerful wave as he and Sam snow-mobiled off into the distance. Asshole. He better come back with every Christmas-themed item he can find in that town.

God, it’s so fucking boring here. I’ve been up here for about an hour trying to think of something to write and slowly freezing into a weird snow gargoyle and I’ve got nothing. Nothing but frostbite. Maybe I should go back inside.

You know, that tree over there has a branch that hangs right over the roof. I bet I could climb from one to the other, and then over to the next tree over.

How far can I get without touching the ground? Okay, yes, this seems like a much better way to warm up than going back into the cabin.

 

*

Okay, so, the thing to note about it is that I got a long way. Okay? Like, nearly a half a mile just travelling from tree to tree like some kinda wood elf or a merry man or, I don’t know, some other awesome archer who can travel by tree. It was incredible, I am the best.

And then a branch broke, I fell ten feet and landed in a snowbank, which hurts more than it should, I am nothing but ache and bruises right now. And cold, so cold. Snow gets everywhere if you fall into a huge pile of it, who woulda guessed it?

I came back here, changed all my clothes for dry ones, wrapped myself in a blanket on the sofa next to the fire and yet somehow I’m still cold. I hate snow, I hate snow, I hate snow. Why didn’t we get a hideout in the Bahamas? A little beach hut, with palm trees and cocktails and so much sunshine, it would have been great.

Bucky and Sam got back about half an hour ago, and Sam has been laughing at me ever since. The number of stupid bird jokes I’ve had to endure, seriously, you’d think a guy who calls himself Falcon would give poor old Hawkeye a break. Plus Steve and Wanda keep laughing at them. I hate everyone in this cabin.

No, I don’t. Bucky just came over and gave me a massive mug of cocoa, with little mini marshmallows and everything. We should send him shopping all the time, Sam never brings shit like that back. 

Oh my god, I may actually get warm again before I turn to an icicle.

I told him he was my favourite super-soldier and he just rolled his eyes, but I think I detected a smile under his steely exterior. I may learn to read his facial expressions yet.


	6. December 6th - Penguin

Bucky actually did pretty well on picking up Christmas stuff, given the size of the town he had to deal with. I mean, we’ve been calling it a town, but I’m pretty sure ‘glorified hamlet’ comes closer to it.

In addition to the hot chocolate, he found candy canes, the fixings for eggnog, a couple more blankets (which Wanda and I immediately jumped on, because Steve and Bucky just apparently haven’t even noticed the cold, and Sam has the world’s largest super-soldier hot water bottle, which he is just unnecessarily smug about) and even a few strands of tinsel, which we’ve draped over the doorframes.

He also picked up the three greatest things I’ve ever seen, little figures of penguins that are wearing knitted hats and expressions of pure evil. I don’t even know how to describe it, they look exactly something from a horror movie, I’m about ten percent convinced they’re going to come alive in the night and massacre us all.

I love them so much. I called them Murder, Pain and Carnage, and we put them on the mantelpiece, but I’ve already moved Carnage to Wanda’s bed, so that when she…

Oh yeah, there we go. Scream of terror followed by swearing Sokovian and-

Who knew that being hit in the head by a model penguin would hurt so much? Motherfucking OW.

Aw, Carnage, no, he’s broken. How will we cope with only two terrifying demon penguins? Christmas is ruined!

Also, my head really hurts. Man, I must remember that Wanda does not play about when she’s found an evil penguin in her bed.

Bucky is sniggering at me from the other side of the room. Asshole.

I threw the largest remaining part of Carnage at him and he just stuck out his metal hand, caught it, and crushed it into dust. I did not think that through.

Also, uh, should that have been a turn-on? Dear super-secret diary, is it weird that I find the destruction of a penguin hot? Wait, no, EVIL penguin, it’s totally fine, the good guys are always turned on by the righteousness of fighting the good fight, right?

I bet Steve is. I’d ask, but that seems kinda inappropriate. Also, I bet he’d just go red and refuse to answer.

Oh, but Sam might. He does have all that smug going on, after all.

Nope, apparently it’s completely inappropriate and I shouldn’t have asked. Sam’s pissed, Steve’s embarrassed and...yep. Bucky’s laughing at me again.

Dear super-secret diary, why does everyone in this cabin hate me? Is it because I’m kind of an asshole?


	7. December 7th - Christmas Tree

For the last couple of days Wanda’s been kinda quiet, and I think she’s missing Pietro in the run-up to Christm-

Bucky just walked past the window with an axe and a worryingly cheerful look on his face. Fuck, gotta go stop a murder.

*

False alarm, apparently he’d just found the ‘perfect’ tree for our Christmas tree and he got over-excited about cutting it down. Which I guess kinda counts as tree murder but I’m thinking it might be best not to mention that to him.

In his defence, it is a pretty great tree, and it fits just right in the corner here. Or it would, if it stopped falling over. Bucky’s trying to wedge it upright with a couple of logs now, which is pretty much comedy gold. ‘Swearing super-soldier tries to get the better of an off-balance tree’ should be an SNL sketch.

Oops, there it goes again. ‘Swearing super-soldier is trapped under a fallen Christmas tree’. 

On a plus point, Wanda’s finding it hilarious as well, so my earlier problem about trying to find a way to cheer her up has been solved, at least for now.

Just to be clear, I did offer to help Bucky. Well, sort of. I offered to help cut it down but, wow, I was so unnecessary for that. His awesome metal arm and fantastic super-soldier biceps are incredible for chopping through wood, it took less than a minute. No wonder Sam announced that Bucky and Steve were going to be in charge of chopping all the firewood when we first got here.

Well, also because sometimes Steve does the ‘ripping logs apart with his bare hands’ thing, and that turns Sam on, which is the kinda thing you get to know about a person when you’re living this close with them. Just like I know they’re probably having sex right now and thank god for super-thick wooden cabin walls designed to trap the heat in, because they also act great at sound insulation.

After watching Bucky take down that tree, maybe I kinda get the turned-on-by-wood-chopping thing, but that goes no further than these pages, okay, super-secret diary? No one can know I think the Winter Soldier is hot, that would just be way too awkward. 

Oh, wait, I think he’s mastered the tree. Yep, he’s stood back and it’s staying upright. Awesome. 

He’s beaming at it with so much pride, it’s kinda adorable. Hang on, need to sneak a photo of that. For Steve, obviously, no other reason, none at all.

Took it just in time, because Wanda then asked what he’s planning to decorate it with and the smile just fell right off his face. Guess he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

I took a photo of that expression as well.


	8. December 8th - Decorations

We’ve spent the whole morning decimating Steve’s sketchpad in order to make tree decorations. Paper chains and snowflakes mostly, and Wanda went out and gathered a bunch of pinecones, except we haven’t got anything to paint them with so they’re just looking a bit dull.

Oh wait, no, proven wrong again, apparently she can change the colour of pine cones using her magical powers. That’s possibly the most awesome thing I’ve seen her do.

Yes, okay, mind-defying cosmic powers, but...instant Christmas decorations! So useful! Well, useful once a year, anyway.

It turns out that Bucky has very specific ideas on Christmas colours, and they don’t include purple which, fuck that. Purple works with everything, no way are we having a tree without any purple. I’ve made a whole chain of nothing but purple just to prove it. He’s making angry mutterings about not letting it anywhere near his tree but if he doesn’t, I’m hanging it right over his bed. Just low enough for him to catch his head on it every time he gets in or out of it.

Mwahahahaha!! Evil geniuses should come to me for revenge ideas, I’m totally the best at it. Someone send a memo out.

Wait, how are we going to hang the snowflakes and pine cones on the tree? I don’t have any string or thread or anything, and I bet no one else does either. Maybe we can just balance them on the branches? Somehow?

So, I asked, and Bucky just disappeared into our room and came back with a ball of wool. Where the fuck has he been hiding that, and why?

He knits. Holy shit, the Winter Soldier knits, this is the best thing, can’t stop laughing, oh god, I think he’s going to kill me.

*

Updates: 

Didn’t get murdered by the Winter Soldier. (Yet.) Yay, go me.

Apparently, Bucky’s knitting Steve a hat for Christmas, because he used to have a red one he wore all the time as a kid that his mom made, so Bucky’s making a replacement and now I kinda feel like an asshole for laughing at him.

We decorated the tree and it looks awesome, especially the purple bits, and we made a star for the top that Wanda did a witchy thing to and now it glows.

Steve found out about the sketchpad and looked heartbroken for a moment, then saw the tree and totally agreed it was worth it. He didn’t sound convinced though, so we may need to get Sam to replace it next time he’s in town.

I made another purple paper chain and hung it over Bucky’s bed anyway. It gives our room a charmingly festive look and screw him if he disagrees.

Also, I used a strand of his wool and a twig to make Pain-the-Penguin a tiny little bow and now he’s undeniably the best evil demon penguin in the cabin.


	9. December 9th - Reindeer

Okay, so Bucky’s ‘over-excited about something Christmassy’ expression looks a lot like his ‘over-excitement about getting to murder someone’ look, but I think I’m just about starting to learn the differences.

Hopefully that means the next time that he bounds into the cabin while I’m ~~sleeping~~ resting my eyes on the couch, shakes me ~~awake~~ out of my reverie and insists I follow him out into the woods as it’s getting dark, I don’t automatically assume he’s finally decided to kill me and hide the body somewhere no one will ever find it.

Okay, so I thought that and went with him anyway, please don’t ask what’s wrong with me. I guess I was just hoping for some excitement.

Man, I can feel Doctor Salzmann judging me from all the way from New York. Yes, fine, maybe I do consider an attempt on my life a fun way to spend a dull evening, what of it? Did they really think well-adjusted people became SHIELD agents? Or Avengers?

Anyway, I was wrong, because after Bucky bundled me into my outdoor gear (there are a lot of layers when you go outside here, leaving the cabin takes about twenty minutes some days) then led me off on a forced march through the shadowy forest on a route that I lost track of pretty much immediately, he didn’t turn on me and leave my body for the wolves.

Obviously, because I’m writing this. Hey, do you think the afterlife has super-secret diaries? Or, wait, there’s probably not meant to be any secrets once you die. That would suck, I like secrets.

Not as much as Natasha, obviously, no one loves secrets like she does. What’s the super-secret diary way of putting it? Natasha <3 Secrets 4 EVA OMG!

God I hope she never reads this. Although, probably the only way to avoid that is to burn it right now, salt the ashes, scatter them to the wind in each of the seven continents, and then undertake a voluntary mindwipe so that I can’t even remember it once existed.

That seems like a lot of hassle, maybe I’ll just accept that she’s going to read it, and then probably kill me. Eh, at least she’ll probably have the kindness to make it a fun death.

I’m so distracted, what was I talking about? Oh, right, my exciting adventure with Bucky. So, we got to a dense bit of undergrowth and he stopped moving and signalled me to be quiet, then crouched and slowly moved forward and, I swear to God, I thought he’d found Hydra agents or something, some kind of bad guys that he needed to take out. I have no idea why, because if he had there’s no way I’d be the one he’d come and drag outside, he’d totally want Cap for that. 

Anyway, I followed him through the bushes, wishing like hell I’d brought more than just one knife with me, then he motioned me to get down low and I crouched down next to him.

He carefully moved aside part of the bush and there was a group of actual, honest-to-god caribou. I take it all back, living in this cabin isn’t always shit. You don’t get caribou in New York.

There was about ten of them, just idling about, eating moss off some of the trees, scraping at the snow, that kinda thing. Bucky had brought us in on the downwind side, and they clearly had no idea we were there. I’m not ashamed to admit it was pretty fucking awesome. They were so close! 

We stayed there for long enough for my joints to freeze up and the snow to find its way inside my boots (How? How does it always do that?) then one of the caribou lifted its head, glanced round at the others and wandered off, and they all followed behind.

Once they were gone, Bucky turned to me with a grin and, yes, I totally recognised it as not being a murder-grin. “How about that?”

“Pretty fucking awesome,” I said, or something similar, which made his grin go smug.

“Reindeer,” he said, letting the bush fall back into place and then standing up with the kind of grace and ease that just isn’t fair in a guy several decades older than me.

“They’re called caribou in Canada,” I pointed out, trying my best at standing up and then nearly falling into him when my knees made it very clear that they weren’t happy about the cold and the position I’d kept them in.

He caught my arm to help me up, which, asshole. “Nope. They’re always reindeer in December. C’mon, Clint, one of them practically had a red nose.”

Yup, he used my actual first name. I felt blessed. I felt less blessed when I realised he was still holding me up, as if worried I was going to fall over.

I shook myself free of him and stepped away, and then made some comment about Rudolph being Steve’s favourite reindeer because, you know, the little guy standing up to bullies, and Bucky pointed out that he was everyone’s favourite because none of the others really had personalities and, well. By the time we got back here we had personalities and back stories worked out for all Santa’s reindeer.

It turns out that Blitzen is my favourite. He’s just been through so much, but he’s always there when Donner needs him. I respect that.


	10. December 10th - Mistletoe

Where the fuck did this mistletoe come from?

No, seriously, which of the jokers in this cabin thought that would be a good idea? And right in the kitchen doorway as well, where it’s completely unavoidable.

Must have been Sam or Bucky, right? They’re the only ones who have been to town recently.

Except. Wait. Does mistletoe grow in the Canadian woods?

Yeah, I have no idea. Botany is not my strong point. At any rate, my money is on Sam or Bucky, except mostly just Sam, because why the hell would the Winter Soldier want to kiss anyone here?

I mean, he has now. Less than a day of it being there and we’ve pretty much all had to share awkward cheek kisses. Look, the kitchen is a central hub, okay? That’s where the coffee is.

Steve kissed my actual forehead, like a proud mama. I thought Sam was going to break a rib laughing.

You might ask ‘but why don’t you just move it?’ or even ‘you know it’s not kiss-on-pain-of-death, right?’ and you’d have a point, dear super-secret diary, but the problem with everyone here is that no one is willing to back down. The stubbornness contained in this one cabin could probably make the tides roll back. We pretty much all took one look at the mistletoe, saw a challenge, and are now determined not to be the first to back down.

Except Sam, Sam is just very good at making sure he only passes Steve under it, and then blocks the kitchen off for ten minutes while they make out. Which is just more fodder for the Sam-put-it-up theory, frankly.

Okay, all right, I’ve been quietly biding my time, waiting for my chance to go get more coffee without ending up running into anyone under it, and I think it has come. Watch this space…

*

Yeah, nope. Bucky appeared from nowhere - seriously, if I didn’t know better I’d think he just materialised out of thin air - at just the crucial moment as I was leaving with my coffee.

We both froze, his eyes went up to the mistletoe, I very strongly considered breaking the Pact of Stubborn and saying it was just a stupid tradition and we could just let it go and then. Well, he got this smirk, okay, like he knew I was going to back down and fuck no. I will not be the first to break.

So, we kissed. And there was no pussying about with cheeks or foreheads either, I just leaned in and laid one right on his lips because I really don’t react well to a challenge, even one that’s only been hinted at by the twitch of an eyebrow.

Good news is that he didn’t react badly to the invasion of personal space and go Winter Soldier on my ass, bad news is that I’ve been sitting here slowly realising how much I enjoyed it. Damn it, Clint, no. 

It’s okay, it’s just a close-contact thing in combination with the isolation. Right? Eh, it wouldn’t be my first inappropriate crush, and it’s not likely to be the last. I’ll handle it just like I did all the others, with denial and repression.

I can hear Doctor Salzmann’s long-suffering sigh from here.


	11. December 11th - Sledge

Okay, so, this is not my fault.

Well, maybe it’s a little my fault, but, c’mon, now I’ve caught on to this tiny crush thing, it’s even more difficult for me to resist Bucky’s excited-about-Christmas face. Not that this was technically a Christmas thing, but...eh. Close enough.

Bucky and I were clearing up after lunch, and I was wondering about going hunting while it was still light out and maybe taking Bucky along again so that he had a plausible excuse to duck out on his turn to clean the bathroom for another day. 

(Sam set us up with a chore rota, and then Steve glared at us until we all gave into it. I mean, everything gets done and the cabin is clean and tidy but it’s probably the most organised I’ve ever been. It makes me want to mess with it.)

I was a bit torn on taking Bucky though, because I could kinda still feel his lips against mine, even though the mistletoe mysteriously disappeared in the middle of the night, taking the risk of a repeat with it. Which was kinda disappointing, but I’m putting that behind me.

I washed the final plate and handed it to him to dry, then had to wave it at him for a moment to get his attention from where he was staring out the window at the sun glinting off the snow.

“It’s a nice day,” he said slowly, as he took it. I agreed, thinking that we were about to come to a mutual understanding re: the bathroom and going hunting, when he turned to me with that goddamn grin and said, “you know, I found a sled in the woodshed.”

A motherfucking sled. How was I meant to say no to that? I wasn’t, obviously.

The sled was a bit creaky, but it went down the hill behind the cabin a fucking treat. I can’t really remember sledding much before. I think Aaron or Jack or one of those guys had one when I was a kid, before the circus and all that, and I got to take a turn or two a few times, but that was a very long time ago now.

Probably not as long as it was for Bucky. They had at least one winter when they were running about the Alps during the War, I wonder if they ever took advantage of all those epic ski runs?

Wait. I bet Cap’s shield is fucking excellent for sliding down snowy hillsides on, possibly while Nazis fired at you.

Okay, apparently asking Steve about the properties of his shield as a sled earns you the angry-and-upset glare, followed by a lecture on not treating a weapon as a toy. Whoops.

Bucky has casually moved behind Steve’s back to give two thumbs up and a vigorous nod, so at least one Howling Commando was using ‘important tactical equipment without the respect it deserves’.

That rant went on for a while, and was only finally derailed by Sam bringing everyone hot chocolate and making a pointed comment about ‘letting the invalid rest’, so thank god for Sam, frankly. Although, ‘invalid’ is going a bit far. I’ve had worse injuries from training exercises.

Not a lot that were more fun to earn, though. See, somehow I ended up showing off for Bucky, can’t imagine how or why, certainly nothing to do with my sort-of-crush or tendency towards stupidity in front of hot people, nope. Plus, you can take the boy out of the circus, but you can’t take the tendency towards stupid stunts out of the boy, so I ended up trying to do a bunch of tricks on the sled while going downhill. You know, easy stuff like handstands and somersaults and maybe a one-handed handspring and I just got distracted from the very real and present danger of the forest I was heading towards.

I didn’t hit the tree that hard, and the sled took most of the force anyway, but now I have a twisted ankle and some bruised ribs and why is it always my ribs? I fucking hate injured ribs, they make doing everything hurt.

Oooh, though, I guess it means I get to skip out on the chore rota for the next couple of days. Awesome.


	12. December 12th - Star

Ugh, this place is boring enough on a good day, but when you’re injured and being made to just lie on a sofa and ‘relax’, it’s even worse. I think my mind is going to drip out of my ears.

Wanda and Sam tried to play Monopoly with me earlier. Or rather, we tried to come up with a new version of the game that didn’t need the pieces we’ve already lost, but it didn’t work very well.

Huh, when did Murder-the-Penguin gain a tiny, carved rifle? And someone has wrapped tinfoil around one of his wings. I hope they don’t think that makes him the coolest demon penguin in this cabin, because Pain still has a bow and you can’t ever top that.

I wonder how easy it is to make a penguin-sized quiver.

*

Unexpectedly easy, if you don’t mind it looking a bit shit. It’s making teeny-tiny arrows to go in it that’s the tricky bit, but I haven’t spent half my life fucking about with archery equipment to fail at this now.

Yeah, Pain is definitely the best. Beat that, Murder.

And now I’m bored again. Dear super-secret diary, please don’t let me get bored enough to make a model of a penguin his own range.

*

Okay, so, that didn’t happen, mostly because Bucky wandered in, took one look at me and announced I looked bored. Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.

He decided that what I needed to do was get outside and stop moping, and when I pointed out that it was already dark outside because it’s winter in Canada, he just nodded and said ‘exactly’, then disappeared and came back with my coat and dumped it on me.

I was good, and repeated the words that Sam spent most of the morning hammering into me, about how I was injured and not meant to be moving off the sofa but Bucky just gave me this deeply unimpressed look which, fair enough. It’s not like I wouldn’t have insisted I was fine to go on an Avengers mission if there had been one.

Man, remember when I used to go on missions and do useful shit like take out bad guys and save people from evil robots?

Ugh, my self-pity is even making me sick now. Just, why is everything so shit?

Well, everything except the guys here, I guess. I let Bucky bully me outside to the old swing someone built between two trees a million years ago, and which kinda looks like it’s about to collapse, and yes, I may have played up the ankle injury so that he slung an arm around my shoulders to help me. You don’t get to judge me, super-secret diary, not until you’re the one developing a worrying crush on a traumatised super-soldier who you’re around pretty much 24/7.

Anyway, we sat on the swing and Bucky pointed out on the North Star which, yes, okay, thanks, everyone can spot that one. When I called him on it, he just tipped his head back to look up at the sky and said, “Well, stars are Christmassy, right?”

I asked if he thought we’d find a messiah if we followed it, and he pointed out that the only guy he ever followed without question was in the cabin, which was the star was right over the top of.

“Steve is not allowed to be your messiah,” I said. “C’mon, he disapproved of the sledding.”

“The sledding got you injured,” he said.

“Most things end up with me injured,” I said, and starting listing them. When I got as far as ‘making poptarts’, he made me stop and told me that I needed a permanent babysitter. Both Nat and Coulson have said the same thing before, so I guess it must be kinda true.

Anyway, we sat out there until it got too cold, trying to name constellations and mostly failing and, well, I’m not bored any more, but it’s possible this crush is just going to keep being a problem.


	13. December 13th - Stocking

So, Bucky just stomped in and threw a pair of socks at my head, and then disappeared before I could say anything.

Oh man, they’re the best socks though, super-thick and long enough to go all the way up to my knees and so damn soft and, best of all, they’re PURPLE. It’s like he knows me, or something.

He must have knitted them himself. Damn, I didn’t realise he was that good at knitting. Feeling bad about mocking him again. Ugh, you’d think I’da learnt to be less of an asshole by now.

If he went to all the effort of making me these, he must be really pissed off with me whining about the cold. Maybe it’s time to dial that back a bit.

Or maybe he really likes me.

Nope, probably the whining thing. Oh, hey, maybe if I whine about the laundry he’ll do it for me. Or snap and take me out with some kinda cool Winter Soldier move. Probably best not to risk it.

*

Okay, just had a very strange conversation with Steve. He came in, looked straight at my socks, then came over and sat on the couch with me wearing his worryingly-earnest expression. Which was enough on its own to freak me the fuck out, frankly, but then he started talking about Bucky and his recovery and how we all had to take care with his emotions because he was still relearning some of them and all this other stuff about basically not fucking about with him and-

Oh. Oh, I just got what he was talking about. Fuck, Captain America knows I have a crush on his best friend and was warning me off. I’m so glad I didn’t realise until after he’d gone because that would have been terrifying.

Although, it might have been nice to have my chance to point out that just because I appreciate a guy’s smouldering good looks doesn’t mean I’m gonna fuck about with him or do anything that might make a recovering brainwashing victim uncomfortable, especially not one I’m sharing a bedroom with. In fact, I’m a little insulted that Steve thinks I might, what? Push a guy who isn’t interested? Get pissed when this doesn’t go anywhere? Yeah, not a chance. I am the king of unrequited crushes, I know exactly how to just smother that shit and pretend it doesn’t mean anything.

Okay, that’s kinda depressing. Ugh, I’m just going to curl up on this couch with some coffee and admire my new socks and not think about the guy who made them for me, and the fact that he must have bought the wool specially and then knitted them in hiding so I didn’t notice and didn’t wait around for me to thank him or anything and ugh. I think I liked it better when I thought he was an asshole.


	14. December 14th - Snowman

So, I tried to thank Bucky for the socks at breakfast today and he just did the blank stare thing and then disappeared without acknowledging my existence. I kinda thought he’d stopped doing that but I guess we all have relapses.

I bit the bullet and finally took my turn at the laundry today, which sucked, and Steve wasn’t even around to appreciate how uncomplainingly I did it, because he and Bucky spent an hour fiddling with the generator and giving it worried looks. I get the feeling it’s not in the peak, tip-top condition that you’d want your only supply of electricity to be in.

When they came back in, Bucky had a smear of oil on his face and, just, if he were anyone else I’d think he did it on purpose because, wow, he really suits the rugged, hardworking, good-with-his-hands look. If I had any kind of space to be alone and unheard in this place, I’d have gone spent some time with a sexy-mechanic fantasy right there and then.

As it was, I suggested we make snowmen instead. Yeah, I don’t even know either, guess all this Christmas shit is getting to me. Plus, if there’s going to be all this snow everywhere, we might as well have fun with it, right?

Steve was giving me a bit of a look, so I made sure to extend the invitation to everyone, which basically meant that Captain America and his gang of super-powered fugitives spent the afternoon building an entire set of Snow-vengers. This is probably not what the UN taskforce hunting us down is imagining us doing.

I’m not quite sure how we ended up making everyone, including Tony. I started with snow-me, because archer snowman, fucking awesome, and then Nat because I wanted to get a photo and then not be able to send it to her, damnit Nat. Steve started making Sam and Bucky insisted on making Steve but, like, mini-1930s Steve, who was about half the size of all the others. Wanda announced we were all childish and then used her crazy magic powers to colour the snow which is totally cheating, and made a Vision, with an old pillowcase as a cloak, so then I got another pillowcase to make Thor, and we all joined in trying to get enough snow together for a Hulk. Sam and I realised we were missing a Wanda and a Bucky at the same time, and while we were fixing that, Steve somehow managed to sculpt a T’Challa with actual Black Panther claws that didn’t crumble right off and Wanda made a Pietro which, damnit, making snowmen should not be sad.

And then Steve stood back with his hands on his hips, eyeing the team we’d put together, and just sort of got this _look_ and, yeah. We made a Tony and a Rhodey to complete it.

Oh shit, I’ve only just realised we didn’t include Scott. Oops, let’s hope he never finds out.

I mean, or that Spider-kid that was running about at the airport, but I have no idea who the fuck that was.

Anyway, now it’s evening and we’re all in the lounge with the fire built up, everyone just reading or playing cards, all quiet and peaceful. I keep catching glimpses of the Snow-vengers through a gap in the drapes, standing out there in the dark with the moonlight glinting off them, and, dear super-secret diary, they are creepy as fuck. I have so much regret.

I mean, and I was worried about the penguins coming to life and murdering us in our sleep.


	15. December 15th - Candycane

Dear super-secret diary, I think I might be in hell. Or heaven. Could go either way.

Sam decided it was late enough in December for us to break into the candycanes which, excellent, good times, nothing like candy to make snowbound freezing isolation that little bit better but. Well.

I did not foresee just what it would be like to sit here and try to pretend everything is totally fine and normal while Bucky God-Damn Barnes essentially fellates a candycane.

Holy shit, that mouth. No wonder Hydra felt the need to cover it with that mask, it should be fucking illegal.

Nnngh.

Okay, okay, I’m being a good boy, I’m not looking, not thinking about it, not storing up fantasies, none of that. He’s just a friend, I need to not be the creepy pervy guy, I can totally do-

Oh shit, no I can’t, he just pulled the damn thing out with this little pop. Thank fuck there’s not really enough seating in here so I’m basically crouching in the corner of the sofa with my knees up to rest my diary on and also cover the undeniable evidence that I need to get laid. 

Do super-soldiers have a gag reflex?

This is a question I should not ask Sam.

Well, not in front of Steve, anyway.

No, nope, not at all, Sam might think I was eyeing up his man and that would be awkward.

Oh thank god, Bucky’s finished the thing.

And decided to just sprawl out in front of the fire in celebration. Damnit, dear super-secret diary, his shirt’s ridden up and I can see skin and hip and, damn, he’s so buff. And all relaxed and got that post-candy happiness and the fire’s glinting off his hair and bringing out red tones I did not realise were in it and...

I swear to god, I did not start this diary just to write about my crush like an actual teenager, but maybe I just need to accept that that’s what’s happening now.

At least I’m not writing our names together in hearts. Well, not yet, but this seems to be escalating pretty rapidly so probably I’ll be proposing by Christmas.

Clint Barnes. Bucky Barton. Mr Barnes-Barton. Clinton Francis Barnes.

Oh thank god, Wanda wants to play Go Fish.


	16. December 16th - Snowflake

It was snowing when we woke up, and kept snowing, and kept snowing and basically we’ve been trapped inside all day. If I thought this place was boring when at least we could get outside and look at the trees, it’s about a hundred times worse like this. We’ve reached the stage of staring blankly out windows at the white out, as if we could just wish it away.

Actually, Wanda probably can. Messing with the weather using magic seems like a bad plan though, especially when you’re meant to be keeping a low profile.

We’re all bored as fuck, but I think Bucky’s taking it the worse. He got all mopey, and then he got scowly, and now he’s pacing the room like a caged tiger. I’m getting the feeling he doesn’t like not having the option to leave.

Steve’s giving him one of his concerned looks, which is probably only making him more twitchy.

Wanda just said that the snow’s likely to keep the rest of today, all night, and most of tomorrow. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Wow, that made Bucky even more stressy. He’s glaring at the fire and gripping the mantelpiece with his metal hand, which is…

Yup. It cracked. Pain and Murder have tumbled over and Bucky’s looking guilty as shit. Everyone else is pretending not to have noticed.

Y’know, there’s a lot more paper in this notebook than I’m ever likely to use for a diary. I mean, I love you super-secret diary, but we both know what my attention span’s like. I don’t know how I’ve kept writing it this long.

Made a paper dart and hit Bucky right on the nose, because I’m the best. He’s glaring at me but I’m pretending not to have noticed.

Dart’s been put in the fire. Sacrilege! 

*

The next one had Hawkeye Airlines: Right To Your Face written on it, but he was expecting it and snatched it out of the air with his stupid fast super-soldier reflexes. He looked at it, then turned to Steve, who was on the couch drawing, but before he could even open his mouth, Steve said,

“Bucky, if you use up even one more page of my sketchbook, I’m gonna go throw you in a snowdrift.”

He didn’t even look up. Can’t decide if he has some kinda mysterious sixth sense shit with his serum, or if he just knows Bucky too well. At any rate, Bucky then let out this, like, epically long-suffering sigh, then threw my dart back at me. He nailed me right between the eyes and I remembered he was a sniper too and, well, marksmanship competitions are so completely my jam.

We pulled out one of the packs of cards and flicked them into a mug, but it turned out that we’re both too awesome to ever miss, even when the other person is deciding where you’re standing. Also, we a little bit destroyed some of the cards, because cheap airport cards are not designed for being flicked off three different surfaces before landing in a mug.

Still, it knocked the scowl off his face, even if it is still fucking snowing.


	17. December 17th - Fireplace

It’s still snowing, oh god, how is there this much snow in the world? It’s got windy as well, so you can hear it crashing through the trees and whipping around the cabin. It feels like the beginning of a disaster movie. We’re going to be trapped here forever, until we start drawing straws on who we’ll eat first and then, out of the darkness outside, we’ll hear an eerily human-sounding howl...

Shit, the lights just went out.

*

Okay, so, apparently all the concern about the generator wasn’t misplaced, because it’s shut down completely now. I’m writing this by candlelight, like some kind of period drama heroine.

Dear super-secret diary, forsooth, I do declare, that Mr Barnes is a sexy piece of ass.

Yeah, okay, I’m not great at old-time language.

Bucky and Steve headed out into the storm to see if they could fix it, which involved them putting every single layer we could find on them, until they were bundled up like polar explorers.

Sam and Wanda and I gave them the kind of emotional send off that polar explorers deserve, complete with dramatic weeping and waving of handkerchiefs, which made Steve roll his eyes and Bucky do the ‘why is everyone so idiotic’ glare. Wanda insisted on some kind of Sokovian blessing that I’m pretty sure she made up on the spot, Sam gave Steve a big, Hollywood-style, goodbye kiss and. Um.

Look, we’re all bored to tears and getting silly, and I’ve always been an idiot, so I copied Sam and gave Bucky a kiss.

Yeah, I know, what the fuck is wrong with me? I think I played it off by claiming it was for luck, and we were all acting like idiots, but. Shit, Clint, you have got to stop doing this shit. Bucky is off limits, no matter how hot he is, or how much you like hanging out with him, or how it feels when you manage to make him smile. Draw a god-damn line and stick to it.

*

Steve and Bucky came back unsuccessful, which I guess says everything about the amount of luck in a kiss from me. Apparently some major part of the generator is now completely toast and we’ll have to go into town to replace it. You know, just as soon as this eternal blizzard calms the fuck down.

They brought more wood back from the woodshed, but it’s going to get cold in here without the heating on. This cabin isn’t very old, and was designed after people stopped assuming you’d only be able to heat it with fire. Not to mention that there’s no way to cook anything without electricity, unless we do it over the fire in the sitting room. Oooh, s’mores!


	18. December 18th - Candle

Okay, right, dear super-secret diary, shit is getting real. I think that, maybe, possibly, somehow, Bucky might have a thing for me too.

No, c’mon, no way, this is me, and he’s him and…

Ugh, except.

Alright, so, dear super-secret diary, last night we all went to bed wearing as much of our wardrobes as we could because of the generator. I was in a t-shirt, one of my sweaters, two pairs of socks, sweatpants and a woolly hat, and had every blanket that hadn’t already been claimed by the others, and I thought I was going to be fine. 

Nope. I just about managed to nod off, but I woke up in the middle of the night because of how much I was shivering, and ended up burrowing under the covers and curling up into a ball, which didn’t help a whole lot. Then there was a loud sigh and a flame in the dark, and I popped my head above the blankets to see Bucky had sat up and lit a candle.

He made some pointed comment about being kept up by my teeth chattering, so I pointed out that I was the only person in the cabin who wasn’t either a super-soldier, had a super-soldier to snuggle, or had magic they could use to warm themselves up.

He frowned at me for a bit, and I contemplated ducking back down under the blankets because my nose was getting cold, then he let out an even longer sigh and got up. Out of the bed. Out from under the beautiful, warmth-giving blankets. Weirdo.

“I can’t help you with most of those things,” he said, sweeping his blankets and the candle up and heading over to my bed, “but if cuddling a super-soldier will help, I can provide you with that.”

Yep.

I know, super-secret diary, believe me, I know, but it’s not like I could say, ‘that’s terrible idea because I’m crushing on you way too hard at the moment to be able to cope with platonic snuggling without it getting creepy’?

Instead, I just froze up while he set the candle down, draped his blankets over the top of mine (such beautiful warmth, omg), then pried mine out of my cold fingers so that he could slide in underneath.

He let in a blast of cold air, but omg, after that. SO WARM. No wonder Sam has never once complained about the weather. Plus, there was the single bed but two grown men issue, so he pretty much just curled up around me and draped his arm over me so that he’d fit and.

Gyah.

His metal arm, by the way, was not at all cold, although not as warm as the rest of him. Still, it was totally snuggleable, and that’s information I could have done with not knowing.

He blew out the candle then patted my shoulder and told me to go to sleep, like there was nothing weird about any of it. I guess from his point of view, there probably wasn’t. I’m willing to bet than huddling for warmth was a thing that he and Steve used to do in the old days, and it’s not like he knows about my massive crush.

Except. Except, except, then there was the bit that has given me hope, and also flailing anxiety because what if he does have a thing back? How am I meant to deal with getting together with the actual Winter Soldier, Bucky fucking Barnes, Cap’s best friend and all-round sniper assassin of awesome?

Yeah, no, I’m way too much of a mess to get manage to get that right.

I got to sleep relatively easily, given the dark and the warmth seeping into my bones, and the fact that the whole thing felt like a dream anyway. Then this morning, I woke up and he was still there, arm around my waist, face pressed into the back of my neck, one foot hooked over my ankle. I stayed exactly as I was to just enjoy it for a moment before I had to be together enough to pretend there was nothing about the situation that was making my little heart go pitter-patter.

I thought he was still asleep and was bracing myself for trying to wake him up without triggering any PTSD-y reactions, then he let out this quiet sigh, gave my waist a squeeze and pressed a kiss to my hair before gently moving away and getting out of bed.

An actual kiss. That has to mean something, right? Or, maybe it’s some old school thing, maybe he and Steve were totally giving each other platonic kisses while sharing beds all the time and-

Nope, can’t make that one fit in my head. A kiss has to mean something, right? 

What the hell do I do?


	19. December 19th - Eggnog

The answer, my friend, my super-secret diary-shaped friend, to the question of what to do about the possibility of some kinda ‘it’s complicated’ thing with the super-soldier of my dreams was obvious: get drunk.

Ah, yes, I see your judgement, or maybe I’m just whatsit, that thing, PROJECTING what Nat’s reaction would be because, let’s face it, I miss my bestie and am using you as a very poor substitute, but in my defence, it was totally Sam’s idea.

Well, sort of.

It finally wasn’t snowing when I’d stopped freaking out and pulled myself out of bed yesterday, so Sam and Bucky went into town for the generator part, and then Bucky and Steve spent a few hours fitting it, so I didn’t see a whole lot of Bucky for most of yesterday which was probably a good thing. Or a bad thing. I like looking at Bucky.

Okay, so I may have gone and sat on the roof for a bit right where there was a good view of him and Steve bent over the generator, which would have been so much better if the weather had been warm enough for them to wear tight pants or strip off their shirts or any of the other things that mechanics do in porn films. There’s not a lot that’s sexy about multiple layers of winter weather gear.

Anyway, anyway, while they were in town, Sam and Bucky grabbed some more stuff. Supplies. Christmas supplies. Including more eggnog because, seriously, if you’re doing nothing but hanging out in a snow-covered wilderness, you need lots of booze. So much booze.

And tonight, we drank it. Oh yeah. Everyone got silly-drunk, except Steve, but he had his boyfriend collapsed against him and giggling, so he was in the silly-drunk mood as well, even without the booze. And AND most importantly, Bucky can totally get drunk as well, he just took a whole shit-ton of booze to do it, it was so impressive.

And then we were all drunk and Bucky kept telling these hilarious stories about baby Steve that made Steve make this sort of embarrassed-but-happy face, and then he started coming back with ones about Bucky and, wow, it was so good.

And then Wanda suggested Go Fish with drinks as forfeits and we are all so trashed right now, I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to read this in the morning, my handwriting is so wobbly.

Bucky sat on the floor by my chair for Go Fish and ended up basically just leaning back against my legs and I don’t know if that means anything or if he just loses his sense of personal space when he’s drunk. Would he have done that to Sam or Wanda? Am I special?

I want to be special.

And the stupid generator is working so it’s all warm in here and I don’t have an excuse to cuddle him and that’s the worst.

Man, I hope I’m not gonna be sick.


	20. December 20th - Snowball

It’s possible we’re in a Hallmark Christmas movie. I mean, I’m not complaining if we are, it just would be nice to know.

The sun was out and it was a nice day, so we all headed outside today. Bucky and Steve got on with some wood-chopping, Sam started doing something to the snowmobile and Wanda curled up on the swing with a book and the glimmer of magic around her to keep her warm.

I climbed up on the roof, of course, because that’s where the best view is. I took a book, but I was mostly just watching the view. Yes, okay, super-secret diary, you got me. It was just the view of Bucky wielding an axe.

He was doing a lot of eye-rolling at whatever was making Steve look all earnest and determined, and then Steve said something that made Bucky’s eyes narrow. Steve turned away to pick up another log, and when he turned back, Bucky just straight-on nailed him with a snowball to the face.

It was a great shot, given that Steve was still moving and all. You know, I’d probably have had a better chance at suppressing this crush if Bucky wasn’t such a good shot. Marksmanship has pretty much always been my biggest turn on.

That’s not weird, right?

Anyway, Steve just stood for a moment in shock, then dropped the log and ducked to grab some snow to get Bucky back and, well. Snowball fight. How am I meant to say no to a snowball fight? So when he stood up I got him right between the eyes with one of my own, which gave Bucky a chance to escape behind the log pile.

Steve gave me this absolutely blistering look, then Bucky hit him again and he had to run for cover, shouting out for Sam’s assistance.  
Sam rushed over as if he was expecting a strike force to be attacking, but he got on board pretty quickly, and I had to get off the roof pretty quickly. There’s no cover up there at all.

I feel like Bucky and I held our own pretty well considering that Wanda joined in on Steve and Sam’s side, which seemed totally unfair, I thought me and her were bros. I did get to use my leaping from tree-to-tree thing, then shove a whole load of snow off a branch right over Sam’s head, which should have won us the battle, but Wanda used her magic to send an entire cannonade of snowballs at me, and I had to leap for safety.

I landed in a snow drift then sprinted for it, losing the pursuit and going to ground behind the woodshed. I started frantically making up more ammo, when Bucky dashed around the corner and pretty much just fell on top of me. And that was the Hallmark movie part, because he was basically sprawled out over me, holding himself up so that our faces were merely inches away from each other.

His eyes are so pretty when you’re that close to them.

I said something lame like ‘hi’ while he just stared at me for a moment, and neither of us moved, then. Well. Hallmark movie, right? We ended up kissing. I couldn’t even tell you who started it, although if Steve asks it was definitely Bucky. 

At any rate, I’m reasonably certain that Bucky does have a thing for me back, because we made out in a snowdrift for way longer than is acceptable in a combat situation, and only stopped because Sam and Steve pulled a pincer-movement ambush on us that would have worked great if they hadn’t been so surprised to find us kissing.

The fight sort of fizzled out at that point, and now we’re all back inside, having put on warm, dry clothes because, seriously, snow gets everywhere. I’m on the sofa and Bucky’s in the kitchen cooking dinner and I’d think the whole kissing thing was some kinda weird snow hallucination except he keeps glancing over at me through the doorway with this little happy half-smile and. Shit.

Dear super-secret diary, I think I’m gonna have to work out how to date an ex-assassin super-soldier brainwashing victim while living in a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere with four other people, one of whom is Captain god-damn America.

Although, if the kissing anything was anything to go by, it’ll be totally worth it.


	21. December 21st - Gingerbread

Last night ended with Bucky coming in from the bathroom after I’d got all snuggled up in bed, hesitating in the doorway and just looking at me.

“You want to have dinner with me tomorrow?” he asked. He actually sounded pretty aggressive about it, which I’m guessing wasn’t his intention. I don’t know, maybe it was.

I’m slow, so I mostly just blinked at him in confusion and then pointed out that we have dinner together every night because everyone in the cabin eats together. He gave this exasperated eye-roll and said, “No, I mean, like. Just us two. I want to take you on a date, I bet I can make it work.”

A fucking date. What the hell was I going to say to that? I mean, I said yes, obviously I said yes, and then he came over and gave me a pretty thorough goodnight kiss before going over to his own bed, but, dear super-secret diary, what the fuck am I going to wear?

*

I’m not allowed in the kitchen. Also, Sam and Wanda are finding this whole thing way too amusing. I mean, I can’t blame them, but the sniggering is getting a bit much. Steve keeps flipping between proud little grins at Bucky and stern looks at me, so I’m definitely going to have Captain America after me if I mess this up.

Ugh, let’s be honest here, super-secret diary, when I mess this up. I mean, look at my track record. This kinda thing never ends well for me.

I really want this one to, though. Not just because it would be nice to break my streak of trainwreck relationships, or because I really like Bucky and it would be nice not to fuck that up, but also because it kinda feels like he doesn’t deserve yet another shitty thing happening to him.

How do I make sure I’m not a shitty thing? Ugh, I don’t even know.

And I still haven’t decided what to wear. I mean, my choices are pretty much one kind of plaid or another, because Canada, but which plaid shirt looks best on me?

You know what? Enough fucking sniggering from Wanda and Sam, they can damn well help me with this bit. And then do some more sniggering, I expect.

Apparently I look best in the blue-and-green plaid shirt, which is good to know, although it kinda makes me feel bad for the rejected shirts. I guess that means I should go get ready for this. Shit, this is so fucking weird, how do you have a date in a fucking cabin anyway?

*

Okay, so, it turns out that I should not have doubted the Winter Soldier’s planning skills. He set up a table just for us in the kitchen, with the candles left over from when the generator died and a tablecloth and all. Where the fuck did he get a tablecloth?

The others were made to take their food and go, then he shut the door and just sort of looked at me, like he’d been so focused on getting it all set up that he’d forgotten that at some point it was going to be just the two of us, and kinda awkward.

He looked damn good, though. I wonder if he needed to ask anyone to know that the red shirt is the best one on him, or if he just knew? I mean, I coulda told him it was. I’d been hoping he’d be wearing it. It stretches just right across the shoulders, you know?

Of course you know, super-secret diary.

Anyway, I went with my guaranteed-to-break-the-awkward special of ‘hi’ which made him just blink at me, then he gave me this smile like he couldn’t believe we were standing there and, wow, he is so damn pretty when he smiles.

Okay, you know what? I am not detailing every moment of this thing, I am not actually fifteen and on my first ever date. You’ll just have to live in ignorance, super-secret diary.

I am just gonna put down the best bit, which was that Bucky had made gingerbread men for dessert in the shape of the Avengers. They were so much less creepy than the Snow-vengers, and the demon penguins. It was almost a shame to eat them, except they tasted damn good and it’s not like I can’t just get him to make more. Right?

Wait, no, the actual best bit was afterwards, when we went back out to the lounge and then just made out on the sofa until we’d managed to drive everyone else out of the room.

Bucky was really pleased about that. Said he’d been looking for a way to stop Steve hovering over him all the time, which seems fair. I told him that anytime he needed me to engage in over-the-top PDA for the greater good, I’d be right there for him.

And now I’m sitting in bed while he finishes in the bathroom, writing this and trying not think about all the ways this could go wrong. Oh god, please don’t let it go wrong.


	22. December 22nd - Tinsel

Update: It hasn’t gone wrong yet! If anything, it has only gone more right. We took our morning coffee out to the swing together so that we could get some space from the others, and have basically just spent the morning making out. I mean, I also helped him with the laundry, as it’s his turn, but somehow it took a lot longer than usual. Stopping every five minutes to flirt will do that, I guess. Also, I think the others are now less amused and heading for pissed off. I’m okay with that.

You know what, it’s a nice day, I’m gonna see if he wants to come shoot with me this afternoon. Archery totally counts as a date activity, right? That’s got to be Romance for Sniper Bros 101.

*

Yup, totally romantic, I definitely nailed it.

Not literally. Well, not yet, some of the making out has got kinda heavy, feels like it’s leading somewhere.

It’s after dinner now and we’re all chilling in the lounge. Bucky’s sat next to me, playing Faux-nopoly with the others, which we still haven’t managed to get the rules right on. I’ve got my feet pushed under his thigh to keep them warm and, when it’s not his go, he’s been resting his hand on my ankle, all casual-like. His metal hand, which feels like it should be weirder than it is but, nope, I’m totally okay with it.

I wonder if he misses the star from his old arm at all. You know, like you’d miss a shitty tattoo you got when you were drunk and 18, and were so relieved to get removed once you had enough cash, but that you still sometimes glance down expecting to see, even years later. Hypothetically, of course, got no experience with that at all. AT ALL.

Maybe I should Christmas his arm. He likes Christmas, right? Seems sad not to. Hang on, I can totally reach the tinsel above the door from here if I just stretch all the way backwards and rely on him to keep hold of my ankles.

*

So, I have learnt three things this evening. 

The first is that Bucky will totally let me wrap tinsel around his arm, even while giving me a puzzled-and-confused look. 

The second is that I have absolutely no brain-mouth filter, which means everyone else now knows about the shitty tattoo that I totally didn’t have. Actually, wait, I already knew I didn’t have a brain-mouth filter, I guess what I learnt was that Bucky does sometimes expect to see the star. He said he’s glad not to have their mark on him anymore, but sometimes he misses the flash of colour. Apparently he thinks his super-cool, space-age tech, robot arm is a bit dull. Right.

The third thing I learnt is that Wanda takes Faux-nopoly very seriously and gets tetchy if you distract the person whose go it is. It’s all fine, I’m gonna keep my mouth shut and watch Bucky rolling the dice with a cool robot arm that’s all wrapped up in tinsel.


	23. December 23rd - Present

So, last night Bucky and I made the executive decision to move around all the furniture in our room so that we could put the beds next to each other. You know, for the warmth of sleeping closer and all that.

We did it after everyone else had gone to bed, which made Steve bang on the wall and yell something very Dad-like about keeping the noise down, which made me start giggling, and then Bucky joined in, and then we were just pissing ourselves with laughter until Sam joined in the wall-banging, which-

Shit. Shit, shit shit. Bucky just walked past with a roll of wrapping paper, a mysterious bag of items and a smug grin, and announced that our room is out of bounds for a bit while he wraps presents.

Presents.

Oh god, dear super-secret diary, I have entirely failed to get any presents. What the fuck am I going to do?!

*

It’s all good! I just escaped out through the bathroom window, sprinted across to the shed we keep the snowmobile in, pushed it far enough out from the cabin not to be heard, then bombed it into town, thereby breaking at least three of Steve’s precious rules.

Eh, he’s met me, he can’t seriously have thought I wouldn’t be the first to break them.

Anyway, despite the smallness of the town, I managed to get something for everyone, even Bucky. Which took some doing, he’s tricky to buy for.

No, he’s not, I can think of eight things straight off that I could have got him, if I had access to the internet and three to four weeks of shipping time. I guess I just wanted something that was absolutely right for him, not just whatever junk you can get in the Canadian wilderness that’s close enough.

Lucky for me, this Canadian wilderness has a shop run by a friendly chap who knows a guy who lives ‘over by Bear Creek, you know’ (I did not know) who likes making to-scale metal models of WWI battle ships (which proves that too many long dark nights sends everyone a bit doolally and I am not to be judged for the range I totally ended up making for Pain-the-evil- penguin) and so needs little pots of metal paint for doing the. Um. Names? I don’t know, for painting something on his little boats. I picked up a bunch of them so that Bucky can decorate his arm however he wants.

Damn it, now I’m second-guessing myself. Is that lame? Or weirdly intrusive given it’s his choice what he does with his body and people have spent way too long trying to take that away from him?

Shit, am I the worst gift-buyer ever?

I need to ask Steve, he’ll know.

*

Okay, well, I’m an idiot. Dear super-secret diary, here’s a tip: Don’t sneak out behind your captain’s back to go shopping and then go and tell him all about the shit you bought because he’s not as dumb as you are, and will totally work it out.

He was more long-suffering than mad though, so I think I was right about him having seen this coming. Also, he totally okayed my present idea and also got this little smile that I think means he approves of me and Bucky in general, so I think I am all good.

Except I forgot to get any wrapping paper. Damnit, I really don’t think Steve will continue being long-suffering if I pull the same trick twice, he’ll just go straight to mad.

Maybe Bucky has some left over that I could borrow. It’s not lame to use someone else’s paper to wrap their gift, right?

Eh, it probably won’t be the lamest thing I do in the next twenty-four hours.


	24. December 24th - Santa

We did presents this evening rather than wait for tomorrow, because it’s apparently a Sokovian tradition and also, PRESENTS. We had more eggnog and lit all the candles and made everything as Christmassy as possible first. Bucky has knitted Pain and Murder tiny little penguin-sized Santa hats and they look adorable. Adorable and, you know, out for the blood of innocents.

It turns out that every single person here bought Steve a sketchbook for Christmas, which was both hilarious and awkward. He’s sitting with them all stacked in his lap and keeps stroking them gently, so I don’t think he minds so much. I mean, Sam also got him something that had to be whispered in his ear and made him go pink, so I think he’s going to be having a good Christmas anyway, if you know what I mean.

Naturally, I had to make things even by whispering in Bucky’s ear, but I couldn’t think of anything that was both sexy and not a huge step over the line given that we’ve been together for, you know, about thirty seconds, so I just said, ‘we’re gonna put Murder and Pain in the drawer they keep their lube in, right?’

Bucky choked on his snort, so it had the right effect of making everyone else in the room think that our sexlife is totally awesome and adventurous.

Wanda had used her crazy witch powers to make a couple of my many plaid shirts purple, so now I can match my colour theme AND the lumberjack aesthetic. And my socks, because of course I’m wearing my super-warm Bucky-made purple socks of awesome.

He gave me another pair of those, as well as a matching hat and, best of all, a smart new journal. A purple one, naturally. Apparently, dear super-secret diary, you are not the secret I kinda hoped you were, and he thinks I should have something nice to jot down my pointless rambling in. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that you’re mostly filled with mooning over him.

At any rate, this is going to be my last entry in this crappy old notebook, then tomorrow I’ll start afresh with the new one. The posh new one that looks like whatever I write in it should be neat and non-smudgy and correctly spelled and yes, okay, it’s intimidating me. I’ll work on it.

Steve drew us all pictures. I got a sketch of me and Natasha together, all suited up for a fight while I balance an arrow on the end of my nose and Natasha gives me that ‘oh my god you’re such a dumbass’ look that we all know means she loves me. It’s pretty much perfect, except then Bucky asked if that had really happened, and we got plunged back into the ‘are circus tricks appropriate in a combat situation’ argument that went on for, like, a month the first time around.

He was totally on my side. Screw you, Captain America, I’ve seen the flips you do in a fight, you’re totally letting out your repressed inner circus brat as well.

Steve had drawn Bucky a couple of views of their neighbourhood when they were kids, and a group one of his family which made him get a bit stoic in the way that I’m realising means he’s hiding a lot of emotion. And then Steve got totally damp-eyed over the hat Bucky had made him, and they had a deeply manly hug and an emotional conversation that ended with them calling each other ‘punk’, so apparently best friend goals were achieved.

Sam got me a frozen pizza that he’s apparently had hoarded away since last time he went on a supply run to town. Now, I’m not saying I didn’t appreciate everyone else’s gifts but, man, sometimes Sam just really gets me, you know? I’ve fucking missed pizza so much. I mean, it’s not going to be take out-quality, but there’s a place for a slightly-soggy frozen pizza in my heart as well as greasy take out pizza.

Mmm...pizza.

When I gave Bucky the paints, he went all stoic again, so I’m thinking that went down well. Right? I mean, he just sort of stared at them for a bit as if he’d never seen anything like them before, but…

Ugh, I don’t know, I need to stop thinking about it or I’ll freak myself out that I’m already fucking this up.

Just think about the pizza, Barton. The sweet, sweet pizza-y goodness, just sitting there waiting for you.


	25. December 25th - Turkey

I am so full that I can’t move. Ugh.

I mean, hello, shiny new not-actually-that-secret diary, you’re all fancy and awesome but, seriously, I can’t ever remember eating so much. And I thought we weren’t going to be able to get Christmas dinner right, because cabin. Nope, this is exactly how you should feel after eating Christmas dinner, like you’re treading a line between barfing and napping.

Sam has already fallen asleep, all curled up in one of the armchairs because he wasn’t quick enough to call shotgun on the sofa. Wanda has disappeared to her room, where I’m betting she’s either napping or regretting all her life choices.

Steve and Bucky ate just as much as the rest of us and are totally fucking fine, the assholes. Why the hell did I decide to hang out with super-soldiers? It was bad enough when just Natasha was making me feel inadequate.

Them and their ability to move have disappeared off somewhere, so at least I don’t have to worry about looking pathetic in front of my new boyfriend as I lie here gently groaning and idly wondering about forcing another gingerbread Avenger down.

Look, those things are really good, you don’t get to judge me.

And yes, he’s officially my boyfriend now, he asked me last night, all serious and adorably old-fashioned, if we were ‘going steady’. I only laughed at him for a bit before agreeing. I mean, we were curled up together in bed, naked and happy after the kind of first-time sex that promises really well for the rest of the relationship, so it’s not like I was gonna say no.

And no, not-so-secret-diary, I am not going to say any more about that. Instead, I’m just going to sit here and think about it for a bit. With my eyes shut. Yeah, good plan.

 

*

I only napped for about an hour, then woke up, had another gingerbread Avenger, carefully balanced Pain on Sam’s lap so he’d see it when he woke up, then put Murder on Wanda’s nightstand because I was totally right and she was napping as well, then went to find my boyfriend.

Boyfriend. Heh. Sorry, just...Bucky Barnes is my boyfriend. Man, I am so grateful for the lack of people around here, this would never have happened if he’d had actual choices.

He and Steve were in Steve and Sam’s room, and Bucky had his shirt off, so I took a moment to appreciate that before I twigged what was going on. Steve was painting Bucky’s arm with the paints I got him.

Which I guess means they were a good idea. Hooray, I’m not a complete failure as a boyfriend! 

Yet.

Bucky gave me a cheerful smile and told me to come in, then Steve snapped at him to not move and Bucky rolled his eyes, so I went over to inspect what he was doing.

It was a snowflake. Like, a big white one with a thin black outline, just intricate enough to be beautiful. I said something about it being nice and Steve gave a grunt that signified ‘I’m concentrating on not fucking up the permanent art I’m creating on my best friend’s body’, so I looked at Bucky, who was giving me a look that I’m beginning to recognise as ‘I want to kiss you’.

I didn’t kiss him, though. I’m not about to risk the wrath of Steve Rogers, artist extraordinaire. 

“Because you’re a special little snowflake?” I asked, and got an eye roll from Bucky that means he’s more aware of modern slang than I thought, and a confused frown from Steve that says he’s just as aware as expected.

“Winter Soldier,” said Bucky, pointedly. “That didn’t come from Hydra, that’s just a name that the community gave me. Seemed kinda fitting. Everyone else gets their badass alter-ego name, right? Even Captain Propaganda here.”

“Fuck you,” muttered Steve, without looking up from his painting. I do love how easy it is for Bucky to make him swear.

Bucky beamed at him, then gestured at the snow gently falling outside the window. “Especially given this place, and that being in this cabin has included the first real moments of happiness I can remember since 1944.”

Aw man, there is so much pressure on me to not fuck this up, I don’t want to be the reason he’s not happy any more. I want him to be happy, properly happy like Hydra took away from him, for the rest of his life. How the hell am I going to manage that?

Also, so amused that he described spies, assassins and general bad guys who pay attention to spies and assassins as a ‘community’. Yeah, bro, we all held hands and sung Kumbaya just after we decided on a nickname for the ghost assassin who kept putting people down in impossible ways.

“I can always add other stuff later, if I want,” he said. “Or, you know, get Steve to add it. Once I’ve got a better grip on who I am and what kinda things I want to be. This is just where I’m starting out.” He looked down at the snowflake and got this happy little smile that made me want to tackle him to the bed and kiss his face off.

Dear not-so-secret-diary, I really, really want to be around long enough to see what else he paints on his arm. I want to know who it is that he’s going to become now that he has a chance to be him rather than whoever Hydra wanted him to be.

And a really selfish part of me really hopes that, one day, I’ll have been around long enough for him to get some purple on there.

That’s it. I’m going to put aside all the shit about not being good enough, or knowing I’m going to fuck up, and I’m going to concentrate on that goal. I want to be with Bucky long enough to be a permanent mark on his life. It feels like, after this winter that should have been shitty but that he’s made awesome, he deserves at least that much.

I have a fancy new journal, the New Year is coming up, I can make this resolution, right? I want to be the guy worthy of the smiles Bucky keeps giving me. C’mon, Clint, you can do this. You went from carnie brat to one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, right? You can do this.


	26. December 26th - Bonus

1 December Cabin

Clint is writing a diary. He thinks he’s being subtle about it. Moron.

 

2 December Holly

Got to watch Clint hunting today. It was even sexier than when he’s doing target practice. God damn it, Steve, why did you have to shut me up in a cabin with the hottest idiot I’ve ever met?

 

3 December Jumper

Gave up a blanket just to see if I could make Clint smile. It worked, so totally worth it.

 

4 December Card

Decided that if we’re going to be trapped in this cabin, I might as well try flirting with Clint to see where it gets me, then realised I can’t remember how to flirt. Damnit, Hydra.

He’s been all whiny about missing out on a ‘proper Christmas’ this year, so figured I could start by trying to fix that. Got him to smile again, several times, and even managed a conversation without freezing up, so it went well.

Steve’s pissed at me, though. Eh, I bought him plenty of sketch books back in the day, it balances out.

 

5 December Cocoa

Made Clint smile with cocoa. Probably should be less proud every time I do that, he gives away smiles real easy.

They’re just so damn pretty though. Light his whole face up.

I need to borrow Steve’s phone again to see if I can get a photo of one.

 

6 December Penguin

I messed up. Damnit. Everything was going so well, things were all relaxed and easy and Clint was starting to chat with me like he does with the others and then I crushed a penguin in my stupid fist of evil and he just sort of shut down and stared at me. I think I scared him. God damn it, I’m so bad at this.

 

7 December Christmas Tree

Didn’t just make Clint smile today, but also laugh. Full, beautiful, belly-aching laugh. I mean, I did it by dropping a tree on my head, but I’ll take what I can get.

 

8 December Decorations

I can’t believe Clint hasn’t noticed me knitting before this. What the hell happened to the super-observant secret agent guy?

I’m gonna make him some socks and see if he notices that.

 

9 December Reindeer

Took Clint on a date to look at reindeer. It’s possible it didn’t count as a date because he doesn’t know, but he smiled and I got to hold his arm and we made up stories about reindeer and he made me laugh.

He made me laugh. God damn it, I just want to box up my heart and hand it to him for Christmas, this is so unfair.

 

10 December Mistletoe

Operation Mistletoe was a complete success. He kissed me! I don’t even care that it didn’t mean anything to him, it still happened.

No, I do care. How do you make someone like you back?

 

11 December Sledge

Today’s great idea for a Christmas date ended with Clint laid up on the sofa while Sam did his ‘I’m not a proper medic, damnit’ frown over him. I’m the worst at this, why did I think it would be a good idea? I’m going to hide on the roof.

 

12 December Star

Steve found me on the roof and did that understanding thing at me until I crumbled and told him everything. He thinks I should keep trying.

Clint’s lying on the sofa with his ankle propped up, writing the diary that he still seems to think is a secret and occasionally letting out deep sighs of boredom and misery.

Fuck it, I bet I can cheer him up. And if I can, then maybe Steve’s right.

 

13 December Stocking

Gave Clint the socks. Don’t know what to do with myself now. What if he hates them?

Gonna hide from him for a bit.

 

14 December Snowman

He dragged us outside to make snowmen. Actual snowmen. And he was so damn happy about it. Have I mentioned how much I love his smile?

Thought he was just asking me to start with and that it was going to be another Christmas date but one initiated by him. Disappointing when he then looked at the others. I need to step up my game, get him to want to do stuff with just me. There has to be some way to get him to see me in a different way to the other people in this cabin.

 

15 December Candycane

Okay, I’m pretty sure that Operation Candycane was a complete success. No way that look from Clint didn’t mean he was having sexy thoughts about me, and if he’s having sexy thoughts about me, maybe I can get him to move on to having, you know, feelings of some kind.

 

16 December Snowflake

Trapped in this cabin by the weather, feeling like a prisoner all over again, and then Clint happened. How does he always cheer me up so easily?

 

17 December Fireplace

Clint kissed me. As a game, but. He kissed me. There was no need to and yet, he did it. Maybe this flirting is actually working.

Steve spent the whole time we were trying to fix a generator in a blizzard smirking at me, but I really don’t care. Clint kissed me!

 

18 December Candle

It’s possible I’m taking liberties now, but the set up was just too perfect. Course, the problem now is how the hell am I going to be able to sleep without him in my arms? Damn, I wish the snowstorm had lasted another day.

 

19 December Eggnog

Turns out Clint is adorable when he’s drunk. Probably should have seen that coming given that he’s adorable ninety percent of the time when he’s sober..

 

20 December Snowball

Fuck YES this has to be an actual thing now, he made out with me in a snowdrift. That’s a pretty unambiguous sign, right?

I’m gonna fucking asking him out on a proper date, one he actually knows is a date. I’m done with waiting.

 

21 December Gingerbread

Date was a massive success, despite the constant background dread that something was about to go horribly wrong. Like, Hydra wrong. Seems unlikely that I’d be allowed to be this happy for long without some kinda shitstorm ripping it away from me.

 

22 December Tinsel

Man, I wish I wasn’t such a sucker for Clint’s smile. This damn tinsel has got caught between two of the plates of my arm and I’m not sure it’s ever coming out.

 

23 December Present

My presents are wrapped. They look pretty good, but I think I may have gone overboard on ribbon on Clint’s. Eh, the guy wrapped my whole arm in tinsel yesterday, he’s not really in a position to complain.

Clint’s stolen the snowmobile and gone into town. I wonder how long it will take for Steve to notice. Ah, no, he’s muttering under his breath; he’s already noticed.

24 December Santa

Four different colours of paint. White, black, red and blue. Such a small thing, and yet.

I hadn’t even thought about whether or not I missed the star until Clint asked me, and then I hadn’t even thought about choosing my own, I don’t know, branding, I guess. I get to be whoever I want to be, paint whatever I want onto my arm. My arm, not Zola’s, not the Soviet’s, not Hydra’s. Mine.

And he just handed over that realisation with a shrug, as if it weren’t worth anything. Man, I’m so glad we pushed our beds together, I can’t wait until we’re tucked up in them and I can try and make him realise how much this means to me.

 

25 December Turkey

I’m starting with a snowflake, but by the end, I want the whole arm to be covered, in all the different things that make up who I am and not who Hydra wanted to make me. I’m going to have a visual record of myself, right there where I can always look at it.

Fuck, how am I ever going to pay Clint back for giving me this present?

Well, I mean, I can start by fucking him tonight as thoroughly as I did last night. That little happy sated grin he had was perfect, I need to see that pretty much every night from now on, I reckon.

Man, this is going to be a damn good New Year.


End file.
